


Let Me Help

by Nuggalolisk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I don't know how else to tag this, Massage, two tug boats bumping in the night because they're idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuggalolisk/pseuds/Nuggalolisk
Summary: Calliope helps Cullen ease a little tension.





	Let Me Help

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. Maybe a character study for Calliope. Or an attempt to see which one of my inquisitors I like Cullen with best. Who knows. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the fluff.

* * *

 

            Calliope watched Cullen roll his shoulders in the heat of the war room. Or he tried to roll them. It was more of an uncomfortable drawing together of his shoulder blades. His hand clenched the pommel of his sword tighter during the motion, but his face remained passive. Cognac colored eyes watched him shift his weight slightly and followed a bead of sweat down his neck and into the fur at his collar.

            “I think that will be all for today if you all don’t mind.” Calliope was already stepping back away from the table. “Commander, I’d like a word with you.” She kept the sternness out of her voice, trying not to sound too mothering.

            Leliana and Josephine nodded; Leliana with a sly smile transforming her normally stoic face. Cullen stood stiffly on the opposite side of the table, praying to the Maker that Calliope was brief with whatever she had to discuss. He could feel the sweat soaking the shirts he wore under his armor. _We are on the top of a mountain, when did it get so hot?_ He resisted the urge to wipe beading sweat from the back of his neck.

            The small ball of rage continued to watch him through thick lashes. The man was as stubborn as she was. If she didn’t play the game correctly, he would shuffle off to bend over his desk and work is back into a solid wall of knotted cords of muscle.

            “Come on.”

            Without waiting for him to argue, she walked towards the heavy door that led to the back stairs to her bedroom. After months of dodging Orlesian nobles in the great hall, she argued with Josephine until the stairs were built. Calliope did not regret them. After a few moments of only soft echoes of her feet on the stairs, she heard Cullen’s boots clank after her. _Good. The man can see reason._

            Her room was hot. It usually was for some reason, despite the large windows that occupied three of the largest walls. She kicked her shoes off at the top of the stairs, toeing them out of Cullen’s way, and propelled over to the large windows on the east wall and opened them. A cool breeze slid its way into the room and rustled a few papers on the large desk.

            Cullen stood by the small sofa and watched the small woman move about the room. He would never tell her, but he thought her quite graceful in her movements. Her massive mane of curls bounced with each step she took. He rarely saw it out of the tight braids she usually kept it in.

            “I like to wear it down on the days I’m not meeting with anymore. And before you ask, yes, you said that out loud. It’s easier to keep down when I don’t have meetings with nobles. Or merchants. Or suitors,” she spit the word out like some of Vivienne’s dry wine. “They constantly want to touch them. And curls–”

            “Frizz the more you touch them,” Cullen nodded as he spoke the words, all too aware of what constant touching does to curly hair.

            The brunette hummed, opening the last set of windows before she turned to face him fully. His face was flushed, sweat dampening his curls, hand still clenched tightly around his sword. “Clothes off.” She basked in his stammering for a few moments before she clarified. “I need you to take your armor off and your shirts. You can keep the pants on.”

            “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

            “Please don’t play dumb. You’re a smart man, Cullen. You aren’t just here to ‘look pretty.’ How long have you been hurting?” She spoke up when he hesitated, “We’re friends, Cullen. Whatever you tell me in this room stays in this room. How long?”

            He sighed. There was no point in arguing with her or even denying that she was wrong. “It’s constant.”

            The moment he said it he wished he could take it back. Her lips pulled down in a frown, her eyes softening from their usual hard glare. _Concern?_ He kept his eyes on her as she went to stand in front of him. She was a good foot shorter than he was, maybe a foot and a half. The tips of her ears protruded out from her curls and he could see a few piercings. Freckles dotted her face and he wondered how many patterns he could make with them.

            “I’m going to take off your armor, and then you’re going to lay face down on that bed.” She left no room for arguments and began promptly unbuckling, untying, and removing his many layers of armor. His cloak was the first to come off. It was heavier than she expected, weighted by the fur and leather. Each piece removed was laid carefully upon the blue sofa. _How long does it take him to get dressed in the mornings? And he does this with a headache and aching muscles?_ Her jaw clenched inadvertently the more she thought about her commander in pain. _No. No, not mine. Never mine._

            Each time his hands came to help her she pushed them away. He felt awkward just standing there as she concentrated on removing his clothing. There was intimacy in the way she carefully took each piece off of him, the way her fingers danced over the buckles and clips. The minute his cloak had come off he felt the cool breeze at the back of his neck and almost moaned. He looked down at her once more, noticed the flush on her cheeks— they were always flushed. Doll-like almost.

            “Shirts and boots off.”

            She left him to slide his shirts off over his head and unlace his boots. His eyes were felt on her back when she turned to go sift through her nightstand drawer. She pulled a small, dark blue bottle out. When she turned around, Cullen was standing in front of her bed, looking at it with worried eyes. She slipped the bottle into her pocket and moved to stand in front of him. Keeping her eyes on his, she spoke softly, “Let me help.”

            Her soft hands guided him to lay on the bed. She was sure in her movements, they were stern but gentle as she pulled him to lay on his stomach. Calli swallowed as she took in the scars on his back. She was not without hers, but seeing them on a man as strong as Cullen, someone as sweet, shook her.

            “I’m going to sit on you.”

            Long legs straddled his round bottom and she sat down fully, letting her weight settle into him. The blue bottle was retrieved from her pocket and she uncorked it to let the smell of eucalyptus, peppermint, and lavender filled the breeze around them.

            “I’m going to touch you.”

            “I don’t need you to tell me everything that you are going to do.” _I am not a wild Mabari._

            Her fingers tipped the bottle and spilled some of the oil in her hands. She didn’t bother warming it, he would probably prefer the cold. She pressed her hands into his back and began her work.  

            The commander jolted when her hands settled on him. He hadn’t realized he was so tense. She didn’t dance around his scars like most did when they touched him. She pressed into them with all her weight, let her hands and fingers slide over the knotted and puckered flesh without hesitation or remark. Truthfully, he found it refreshing that she didn’t. It made him feel whole and not broken, not some damaged wild thing that would snap if his scars were touched, handled. She didn’t ask questions, as most were wont to do. He rolled his head to the side and watched the mountain range outside of her window.

            She smirked when the warmth at her fingertips made him gasp. His muscles rippled the harder she pressed in.

            “Maker, woman!”

            Callie chuckled and continued to work at the knots in his back.

            “I don’t need to tell you everything I do, hm?”

            “I’m not a wild mabari.”

            “Are you sure about that, Cullen? You’ve been snapping like one lately.”

            She wasn’t wrong, he knew that. He had been exceptionally grumpy lately, the scouts often avoided him if they could. At that point, he wasn’t sure who _didn’t_ know about the withdrawal. The Herald was the only person, besides Cassandra, who gave him flack back when he snapped at them.

            He moaned loudly when her fingers found a particularly hard not and rolled deeply.

            “Maker, I’m sorry,” he gasped as she pushed again. He was thankful his face was hidden from her view.

            Callie leaned harder into him and worked at the knot. “Don’t be. It means I’m doing something right.”

            She put more oil in the palm of her hand and set to work again. It seemed as if his entire back was nothing but muscle knots. Her hands drifted around to his side and he jerked beneath her.

            “Ticklish, Cullen?”  She tried to ask without smiling.

            He grunted and tried to still as she returned to the muscle there. “Perhaps.”

            Maker, her chuckle was adorable. He hid his smile in the blanket beneath him. The blanket that smelled like her. The more he laid there, the more he tried to figure out what it smelled like. Wood smoke perhaps. Some kind of roasted fruit.

            She worked on him for what felt like hours until she finally moved to the thickness of his neck and shoulders. Her hands were small but with long fingers. Every so often her nails would glide across his skin lightly. He had stopped trying to hide his reactions from her. Or the little sighs and quiet whimpers.

            Calliope took her hands from his back to get more oil.

            “Please,” he said, muffled against her comforter. “Please don’t stop.”

            “I won’t.”

            By the time she was finished her hands ached. It was worth it though to see him so relaxed.

            “Alright, I’m finished.” She moved off of his hips and sat on the end of the bed. “Please don’t let your back get that bad again. Come see me next time. And don’t go and undo all the work I just did.” She wiped her hands on her leggings. “Cullen?”

            When she turned around to look at him and found him sound asleep. His curls had fallen into disarray when she massaged his scalp. Now, a few pieces hung down in front of his eyes and rested on his forehead. There was a healthy glow on his cheeks and the permanent crease between his brows was finally gone.

            As quietly as she could, she rose up and got a sheet from the linens closet beside the bed. She stretched it out over him and shut all the windows except for one. No reason for him to catch a cold. At her desk, she stopped and wrote out a quick note that she stuck to the outside of her door.

            _Please leave all missives here. Unless Corypheus himself comes down from the heavens, do not open this door. Knocking will not be tolerated._

While Cullen slept soundly, Calliope drew a shawl over her shoulders and sat to work at her desk. Occasionally, Cullen would let out a distressed noise but would quiet down when she spoke to him. The only disturbance they had was a soft knock at the door around dinner time. Callie brought the tray of fruit up and ate at her desk quietly, fighting heavy lids.

~

            Cullen woke up, still exhausted, at ten bells. Maker curse the one who thought ringing the loud bell to signal the time. It did nothing but echo loudly all over Skyhold. It took him months to get used to the blasted noise. He sat up with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. The sheet that was covering him pooled in his lap and he frowned. It was not his sheet. It was not his bed.

            Maker, Calliope.

            He quickly scanned the room for her and found her curled up on the sofa next to the stairs. She had tied up her curly hair again, the bun barely containing the thickness of it. Once again the frown returned to his lips. He stood up and pulled the blankets down on the side of the bed with the nightstand that held a teacup and a book. Moving as quietly as he could, which was still louder than he would have liked, he knelt down next to her on the sofa.

            “Herald?” he asked quietly, resisting reaching out and stroking her cheek. “My lady.”

            Calliope let out a soft sigh that verged on being a question.

            The smile that crossed his lips was soft. Gently, he drew his arms under her knees and back. When he lifted her from the couch, her face buried into his neck. He put her to bed and drew the covers up over her shoulders, smiling when she curled into it with a sigh. She was something special. Not just because she was the Herald, but because she was more than that.

            He retreated from the bed and made to put his armor back on.

            “Cullen?”

            Her voice was small in the vast space of her room.

            “Rest now, Herald.”

            “Stay with me.”

            The way she said it told him she was already falling asleep again. He could have easily gotten dressed. He could have walked down the stairs and through the hall. He could have walked back to his office, gone up his ladder, undressed, and slept. Slept in his own bed like a gentleman. Like a commander and not a lover. He could have.

            Instead, Cullen sat his shirts back down and slid into bed behind the small woman. The small woman who instantly rolled over and pressed her face into his chest. It could have been the way she asked him to stay. Or, a reason he was more likely to accept, it was the exhaustion.

            “Goodnight, Cullen,” she sighed, drifting off once more.

            “Goodnight, Calliope.”

           


End file.
